For Hope Lovers: A Chance to Know You
by Bayanette Winters
Summary: Your job...your mission. That was all that mattered at first. But are you willing to risk the chance to get to know that boy...? Hope x Reader insert. Oneshot.


I Hope For a Chance to Know You…

You walked slowly towards your target's apartment, watching it's open windows from the roof above and adjacent to it. You waited for any possible sight of your target. Finally, they came into the sight of the window. The girl had shoulder length silver hair, green eyes (from what you could see) and looked to only be about 11 years old. What had this girl done to get your contract pinned to her perfect little head? You couldn't care much; you didn't ask questions when you took your jobs.

Your bow's string sang as your fingers brushed over it, as though whining that it wasn't getting any action. Instinctively, you shushed it. They girl looked up and out the window to the spot where you were already ducking. How could she have heard you?!

After nearly 20 minutes (just to be safe) you stood again and jumped off of the building and onto the quiet street. As soon as your feet had made a _thud_, the town seemed to come alive and began to bustle with busy children and adults. Some bought food, others did errands for their loved ones. You, once again, couldn't care much. You'd decided to run from these kinds of lives long ago. You started walking, mentally plotting out a perfect method to take down your target and get the money. As you turned a corner, you ran smack into a boy. He apologized and helped you up from the ground he'd knocked you onto. Looking up at him, you had to do a double take. He had short silver hair and light blue-green eyes-much like your target's. Where they related, maybe? The boy hadn't thought to let go of your hand and you hadn't thought to notice. You stared at him, a small voice in your head wondering if what you were doing was right.

Of course it wasn't, you thought, harshly shoving the voice further into the dark hole of repressed memories. But like you cared what it thought was right and wrong. This was a cruel world, and sometimes you just had to do what you had to do to survive in it.

"I'm sorry," the young boy (only slightly taller than you) said quickly, finally releasing your hand. Had he really been holding it this whole time?  
"Whatever," you replied rudely, hoping that it would get him to leave you alone. You took the time to notice that not only was he taller than you, but he was most likely 14, about the same age as you were. But, to you, age meant nothing. This world was all about skill and how you could hone it to benefit yourself. It didn't matter if you were 14 or 24; you could still kick some ass.

"What's your name?" You realized he was talking again. You blinked, your mind blurring for a moment.

"_," You tell him, surprised at your honesty. Had you simply forgotten your basic assassin stealth skills?! You never tell anyone your real name!

Maybe it was that look on his face that said, "I'm easy to trust" and "I have a feeling that we could understand each other well." You mentally sighed and tried to walk away, but he spoke again.

"So where are you from?" Goodness, he was asking a lot of questions. You watched the boy before you before you realized something. But before you could bring it up, he was talking again.

"Wanna go for a walk?" You were motionless. He seemed to be the kind of boy that would follow you if you just walked away. And it wasn't like you had to keep up much of the conversation. So you nodded, figuring you could kill some time before you needed to complete your mission.

…. ….. ….. …..

As you two walked in silence, you continuously felt his eyes turn to you. But every time you looked at him, he was looking at his feet on the ground, making you feel embarrassed that _you_ were looking at him (as you figured he'd been this whole time).

Your previous realization returned and you decided to speak up on it.

"You didn't tell me _you_r name," you said to him, your tone monotonous. He didn't appear to notice it.

"Hope," he replied, "Hope Estheim." You recognized his last name. Weren't his parents well-known? You couldn't remember at the moment.

Then it came to you; his mother had died. You couldn't remember his father, but his mother's name was Nora. She had passed long ago, it seemed. You wanted to feel pity for him, but…couldn't. You hadn't felt anything for a long time.

"So, what were you doing in front of Emma's house?" You looked at him, expecting his question to have formed visible words coming out of his mouth.

"Excuse me?"

"Emma? You were in front of her house when I found you." More like crashed into you.

"Oh. Um, I'm a …" You tried to find job that you could have that would allow you an excuse. "New girl." Not a job, but this could work. "I heard that the apartments in there were good living space."

"You and your parents live around here?" You first reaction was to look as far from Hope as you could, hiding any weakness that may show on you face. Not that it would…not anymore.

"No. They died when I was little."

"Oh…" Hope finally went quiet. It brought you a small sense of relief and your mind expanded into a plot that you could execute tonight. "I…I'm sorry." You looked at Hope again. Sorry? For what? "I know what it's like to lose people you love."

"No, don't be. I don't really remember them, but what I do wasn't all that…important."

"What do you mean?" For some reason, you didn't want to go on to tell Hope that you didn't believe that a parent's love was worth mulling over.

"Never mind." Another question washed out of your mouth before you could stop it. "How do you know Emma?" You knew you'd regret this.

"Oh, Emma is just a kid I baby sit sometimes. To tell you the truth…" Hope scratched his head awkwardly, trying to decide what he should tell you and what he should keep inside. "She reminds me so much of my mother, mostly in appearance. I've gotten kind of attached to her." You watched his eyes dim with a heavy weight. You continued to stare at the foreign emotion.

"Why are you telling me this?" A harsh-sounding question, but somehow necessary.

"Because," he replied, looking up at you and smiling. "I like you."

You didn't know how to respond, but for some reason, chose not to leave-not quite yet. You decided to stick around with Hope until the sun went down.

…. …. …. ….

You pulled your singing bow from the spot you'd been hiding it on the same roof as before. Your target was sitting in the window, her back turned to you. You once in a while saw a small doll bob up and down in her hands. You drew an arrow, pulled back the bow's string, and aimed, waiting for your grip to steady.

In the moon's light, Emma's hair shined in the moon's light, reflecting a silver river that seemed to be vibrant with innocence. Your stared at her a little longer…stared until your grip started to shake. Your arms were getting sore, but somehow, you just couldn't let that string go. The arrow began to droop wearily. You saw the girl; she was just waiting to die. But you couldn't move your fingers to release your bow. The girl looked to the side, now showing half of her face to you. Her bright eyes seemed to shine, too. They were glancing at something in the house, but it felt like more than that to you; it felt like fate was showing you one last look of that girl, that girl who so much resembled Hope's mother.

And, at the very thought of his name, the girl's face became Hope's, and you felt your cheek wet with a tear. You started to bawl where you sat, and you lowered your quivering bow. You couldn't do it; you couldn't kill her. Not when she meant so much to Hope.

Hope; a boy you'd grow attached to in only a matter of hours today. A boy whom you felt _could _understand you. You _felt_ for him. What had come over you?

Down on the ground, more silver waves caught your eye. It was Hope again, wandering the lonely streets on his own. Seeing him made your tears slow, but made them heavier. He was looking up at the same window you were, a sad smile pulling up his lips. Emma was his reminder of the wonderful life he once had; something you'd repressed yourself from remembering.

You dropped your bow, wiping your eyes. You realized then what you wanted:

You wanted another chance to live the life you had stolen from you. You wanted a chance to do those crazy things teenagers do. But, most of all, you wanted a chance to get to know Hope.

And, as you hopped down to him, you hoped he'd give you that chance.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Another Hope Lovers. This was a request I did a long time ago. Why do so many people love Hope? He's cool, but I've always wondered just what makes him so attractive to the ladies... Maybe you can enlighten me, friends? Leave a comment to tell me what you think.


End file.
